Delirium
by Personification of Fluff
Summary: One shot. Winner of 2006 MirokuxSango Romance. Sango reflects back on the first time Miroku called her a friend and he earned her respect. Contains the use of sake and bed rolls and bandaids and demonic beds, but I assure you: it's a peice of Fluff.


AN: I had an idea. I don't know where it came from. Possibly being hungry. It takes me two hours to pump out a 10 page one shot. Not bad, but I think the ending needs some work. It's cheesy. And vague, unless you're a diehard MS fan. Or insane like me.

Disclaimer: I don't own MS. The story is mine, though. It's my muses' revenge. I don't own Mikaila-sama, either. She's a real person and owns herself. And the part about what she said is paraphrased from her site, regards to the ending: can anyone else say: morality much? God, talking about talking to oneself through writing. I think this is for me more than anyone else. I just wanted to point out the blunt didactic messages before someone else did.

Author: PoF

Rating: PG

Post Script: I want to copyright what Miroku calls Buddha.

Enjoy!

Delirium

It's strange. Sometimes Kagome will look over and smile at me and admit "I never thought this would last."

And Inuyasha would say the same thing. I'm never to shy or concerned to ask why. I'm always blunt with Inuyasha. That's why Kagome knows how to keep his temper down, I suppose, and not myself. But even Inuyasha has changed since the days of hunting the jewel, and now his ears will pull down and he'll look ashamed whenever I catch him talking out "the _bouzu_", as Inuyasha will call him on occasion. Then I'll have to come up with some kind of a threat, and chase Inuyasha down…

And I never expected to hear the answer he gave me. I though Inuyasha would talk about Miroku's lechery or my jealousy, or how Miroku _loved_ to antagonize me by flirting with other girls. Never in my life did I expect his answer to be: "You don't respect Miroku."

Of course I respect him! Just because I get mad or jealous or give him the cold shoulder or punch him after he used to lay those perverted hands of his on me, it doesn't mean I don't respect him! No, I respect his intelligence and his determination and… and… and all the little things about him that make my toes go numb from happiness and my mouth smile widely, to the point that it makes all the other smiles pale in comparison.

I don't… I don't know when I _exactly_ started to love Miroku, but I know when I respected him. I always did.

When I first met the group and was injured, it was Miroku who helped Kagome with the medicine, and it was Miroku who kept Inuyasha quiet and far away so I could sleep in peace. It was Miroku who was always there with a kind word: "I did it for you", "Kohaku called you his sister… it's an improvement", "We'll find away", "We'll have revenge"… "I love you…" "Bear my children…"

These were all things he was right there to tell me. And what did I tell him in return for all these wonderful things?

"Pervert." "Keep your hands off me." "Houshi-sama." "Houshi-sama." "Houshi-sama." A smile. And then, finally, when it was most important: "yes".

They seem so inconsequential compared to what he said, don't they? And yet, the way he heard them: "Pervert… Please don't touch me. I fear I may like it too much. I respect you. I really do respect you, even if you are a pervert. I can't say your name. Don't make me say it. I smile only for you because you're the one closest enough to my heart to see it. I love you too."

Oh, when I think of it that way, it's so hard to wonder _why_ kept grabbing me when I said one thing and he heard something completely different, even if, eventually, it was true.

But I _always_ respected Miroku. Always! He was sensitive, and quiet, and yet distracting and appealing and intelligent. And it was _dangerous_ to me. I didn't want to care for anybody, or anything. No one except for Kirara and Kohaku. They were the only ones who mattered. Not even myself. I didn't even matter anymore. Loving caused pain; that's what I had learned.

And I proved it, as many times I could. Stealing the sword, hitting Miroku, planning on leaving them, risking everything to save Kohaku…

But as much as I tried to keep from loving Miroku, I could never stop respecting him. I'll tell you why. Once, back when we were first thrown together into the time of nightmares and romance, there was only us, and Kirara. And blood; so much blood.

We'd been separated from the others for some time then, and it hadn't particularly mattered. Miroku and I were able to hold our own, after all. Between the added protection of Kirara and Miroku's wind-tunnel, I had long thought we were untouchable. Until we were greatly outnumbered. Four against one, if I recall correctly. Though with the size of these demons, it might well have been eight against one.

And somehow, we survived, though wounded. Miroku and Kirara were the worst; not me. I liked fighting from a distance. They were both up-close fighters, putting themselves in a position where they could be more readily injured by swords or claws. I always had to be worried about projectiles. But an arrow, even through the stomach or upper chest, was much more easier to heal than a sword stroke in the same place.

We found a safe place to settle down, and Miroku refused to have any treatment until Kirara was fixed. He said that if we helped her mend as fast as she could, she would be able to protect us as he finished healing. He smiled at me wearily, his bangs damp with perspiration, and called it a symbiotic relationship.

There was that mind I respected, so thoughtful and smart. And there was that heart I respect, so understanding. I didn't understand then how that same mind could not understand that I disliked him groping me, and the anger and frustration I felt when he did. But now I do. It was all a lie, and I didn't even understand it until after it had gone from being a lie, to a wonderful game. One sometimes I would lose on purpose. I can't keep winning all the time. That's boring.

Back then, what I respected the most was just… _him_. He understood how Kirara and I worked. She wasn't my pet, like so many people assumed. She was my partner, no more or less valuable than Inuyasha or Kagome or Miroku or Shippo. And after the death of my village, she became more. She was no longer my friend or my partner. She was all I had left, and I her. We had nothing in the world but what was on our backs. We could not survive on our own. Kirara could not survive without my added protection, and vice versa, and I could not survive without the touch of her comforting, furry body against mine as I slept, and vice versa.

Miroku, as he looked up at me with his pale eyes, understood that, and I respected him all the more for it. I bandaged Kirara in silence. The only sounds made were the fire cracking and burning and Miroku's labored breathing. I was worried when I finished bandaging Kirara. He was sweating more than early, and his face was flushed. When I touched his arm, he flinched. He hadn't even heard me sneaking up on him.

"Your turn."

"What about you?" he asked. His voice was weak and strained. He gestured to the cloth wrapped around my leg where I had been shot. "You're limping."

"Well, there's a hole in my leg," I practically pointed out. "It stings a bit, but it's not bad. I'll be walking with a limp for a bit, but there's no reason why I can't still throw the _hiraikotsu_. Now, take off your robes so I can see that wound."

A mutual friend of ours, Mikaila-sama, she's always pointing out when I tell her stories how absurd and fake they sound. How, she points out, does a man like Inuyasha who gets a nosebleed at the first sight of Kagome's skirt breezing upwards always manage to become half-undressed by the time the "healing" starts? And how does Miroku, who continually tries to flirt woman into bed with him, manage not to show off _anything_? Wouldn't a flash of a bicep be more alluring to some women then the sweetest words or flowers?

I suspect that if I told her this particular story, she'd believe it even less. Miroku flat-out refused to undress himself, shaking his head. His eyes were dazed and he had trouble focusing afterwards. "No…"

"Are you saying that you don't want to get undressed or that you can't?" He didn't answer and I reached for the knot of fabric on his shoulder. He caught my hand. His grip was strong. "Houshi-sama?"

He muttered incoherently. From what I had gathered at the time, it was something about _kesa_ and how it was special… I think I gave him a small smack and then yelled at him, pointing out that he could either get half-naked for me or continue to bleed until he passed out. When he didn't respond, I pointed out that this was probably his only chance when I was alone to be naked with me. That elicited a small smile, especially after I promised I wouldn't think him a pervert for it.

Miroku was too tired to take off his clothes. The first layer was easy to take off. It slipped off easily and I folded it neatly, laying it atop the log Miroku leaned on so it wouldn't get dirty. The second layer was more difficult. I lifted the darker material, and found it much more heavier than I expected it to be. It actually made my tired arms ache by the time I rolled him out of the damn contraption. Holding it, I gave it a little shake, hearing things rattle. It must have weighed an extra eight pounds or so.

"What the hell have you got in here, Houshi-sama?" I asked, patting the pockets. I felt extra prayer beads, a small bottle of ink, a bit of extra money, and a small flask of sake. Shaking my head, I looked up at him, and then I lost my smile.

First, let me say that despite the contents of his clothes, I respected Miroku all the more for carrying such heavy robes. He never told anyone of the extra weight he carried, and he never complained of it. How many times had he helped Kagome carry a bag or my _hiraikotsu_ to boot? It was… impressive. I think it really showed the calm, helpful attitude which usually characterized a monk. It proved how nice he was to not only help us with our burdens when he had his own, but it took self-control to carry it in silence and to keep on carrying it.

And I assure you as well, Miroku's body looked like a man's who lived his whole life carrying such burdens: broad-shoulders, and toned musculature structure. I suppose you want me to go into details, about strong biceps and sloping triceps and pectorals which any demon slayer would have envied (myself included), but I'll leave that to some other tale of mine. I'll tell you, though, what they leave out. The leave out how sometimes the light made his face look gaunt. They leave out that when the light is just-so, you see small lines around his sensual mouth. They leave out that when he smiles, there are wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. It wasn't just physical weight that had shaped his body, but emotional ones as well.

But what was important here was not what he looked like, but what had happened to his body. Claw marks were still oozing blood over his stomach. More claw marks stated on his back and came around to his shoulders, and bite marks were gouged into his neck. I had known there was blood. I didn't know how much.

"My God! Houshi-sama, what happened?" He didn't answer. "Houshi-sama!" I gave his cheek a small slap, but it was unscrewing the flask that made him open his eyes. He took a deep sip of the sake, and seemed to enjoy it. He looked a bit better already, though still flushed.

"Man, that shit burns sometimes… thanks, Sango."

"Why didn't you tell me it was this bad?"

He tried to shrug and only succeeded in wincing. He took the flask from me and took another long sip, coughing badly as it burned his throat. I had seen men do it before. Blood loss, pain, any number of things made their minds hazy, but the sheer strength of the rice wine eased it over. It was hard to think of pain anywhere else when your throat was on fire.

Miroku managed to get the story out. One of the demons, before he had a chance to open the wind-tunnel, had pounced him, digging claws into his neck and back and biting. It was Kirara who had gotten the monster off, but not before the toll had been taken. By the time he finished his explanation, most of the bottle was gone and he was shivering.

But I had bandaged the back. He could lean back down again, which he did. As I hovered over him, I smelled something bad. I touched the wound on his neck gently. He winced and bit his lip, but did not complain at my probing.

With a sigh, I sat back. "The wound is taking infection. I'll be honest, Houshi-sama. I never had encountered demons like that before, so I can't be certain. But I know my poisons. Demon-hunters use a lot of them. There are poisons for everything you know."

"When I need a lesson in toxicology, I'll ask for one." He leaned back his head to look at me. "Just get to the point will you?"

"…You've been poisoned."

"…well that's just fucking peachy, ain't it?"

"And because I don't know what kind of poison they use, the best I can do is try to get it out naturally."

"Even more wonderful!"

"And I think you're slightly intoxicated."

"Not nearly enough, I can assure you." He smiled at me and shifted. It made him wince. "Okay, Sango. Do your best. Just… try to be gentle with me, will you? It's my first time."

Kirara was well enough to walk. I sent her off to collect some more firewood, and I moved Miroku closer to the fire. He never stopped talking. He talked about the most inane things as I wrapped his wounds. Trying to bandage a talkative man who is intoxicated and delirious and happens to have a crush on you is one of the most frustrating things in the world. Every time I leaned over to pass the gauze around his body, his nose would brush mine or he'd stoke my hair. He'd say my name whenever he could. And the things he talked about! He never seemed to get off of his "first time".

He told me about the first time he had sake, the first time he saw someone die, the first time he kissed a girl… I learned a lot about Miroku that night. Not all of it good. I would have told him to shut up, but talking, I think, was the only think keeping him conscious. Not from the alcohol, you understand. I had emptied that out and filled it with water from my canteen long ago. Water would help to thin his blood, and hopefully, reduce the potency of the poison. It was from the fever welling up in him. The flask was always near his mouth. His lips were chapped and his face glistened.

God, how I prayed! I was so afraid…

"Oh my first kiss was great!" Miroku continued. I was almost glad he was on the topic of kissing. Some of the other topics had been getting… dark. They made me very uncomfortable. At least if he was talking about kissing, I could tell myself it was all a lie and he wanted a rise out of me. "She did this thing… with her tongue. She was a prostitute, you know. A very nice girl. Older, very learned. She said if I ever wanted to leave Buddha's good graces, she'd have a place for me at her house. She said I'd learn the trade, and if I could make love with my body as well as I could with my mouth, that I'd have my choice of any clients. Of course, reflecting back on it now, I think it was all a test. Yes, a test from Buddha himself to see how I would handle such a delicious temptation. And everyday I thank him that he took the care to make sure it was such a delicious one. I never thought he could outdo himself." He laughed and took a drink. "And then the old boy out did himself, that sneaky little bastard."

I smiled, bent over the soup I was stirring for our supper. Miroku was wrapped in blankets, next to me. I was trying to sweat out the fever. Never had I thought I would ever, _ever_ hear someone refer to Buddha as "that sneaky little devil". "And how did he out due himself next? Send you an even better whore to whom you could lose your virginity?"

He laughed, and nearly fell over. "No! Don't be silly, Sango! _I_ lost my virginity to a very beautiful noble woman who was _exceedingly_ thankful that I helped to rid her property of _eviiiiiiiil_ spirits." He actually giggled.

"I see. So you pretended to exorcise her house for her…"

"House? No! Her _bed_ was demonic. I exorcized her bed for her." Even I laughed at that, and Kirara's golden eyes were amused. "And I didn't fake it. It was really demonic. The bed kept trying to seduce whoever came near it. It kept trying to have sex with her while she slept. No, I meant that Buddha outdid himself when he sent me you."

I stopped stirring the soup, shocked. To distract myself I grabbed the flask and took a drink of water. Then, my back turned to him, I filled it up again for him.

"I see you don't believe me." There was no giggling now. He was serious. "You _are_ a temptation, Sango. You're intelligent, and graceful, and feminine and strong and witty, and oh, god, oh so beautiful. I love watching you. You don't even know it." Now his voice was melancholy and he ducked his head. He picked little balls of fluff from the blanket around his knees. "I love watching you. I love… admiring you. Do you know what you look like when you fight? Like… like elements. Like… steel bravery, and graceful water, with the power of earth and the passion of fire and the air always whips around you. You're just so… complete, when you fight. And you touch me so gently when you try to fix me. You speak so softly when you know I'm hurting. You look so sad when you think I'm not paying attention to you, but I am. I always am. It's like… like I can't help it.

"And then… then… sometimes, when you're asleep and I'm not… I see you cry. You cry in your sleep, Sango. And I think… I think… that I wish I could help you. I wish I could hold you and make everything better, the way my dad did when I had a skinned knee or a burnt finger, but I can't. It wouldn't be proper, and you wouldn't like it. And I just… I wish I could help, but I don't know how. We're together for a reason, Sango. I know it. We're supposed to help each other, but you're a distraction too. Another test, to make sure that I am still… a monk." He breathed in deeply. "I know I can help you. I can help you fight. I can help like that. But I'm scared, Sango. I'm scared that if I do… I…"

Finally, I looked up at him. I passed him back the flask, and he played with it. "Yes?" I tried pushing. Miroku gave in.

"I'm afraid that of I help too much or too often, I'll get close to you. And if I get close to you, I may hurt you. No, not may. I _will_ hurt you. You're a proper lady, Sango, if a bit of an unconventional one. I don't want to sully your reputation. It's bad enough we're alone like this… if I ever… if I ever… on the off chance that the world went insane and I did bed you, I'd leave you afterwards. I'd have no reason to stay. I never do. And that's unfair to you. So… So I always tell myself no, whenever I want to reach out and touch you. I tell myself no whenever I want to brush your hair or hold your hand, or dry your tears. Because if I ever touched you, I'd never be able to stop. Not until I had you all."

"You're sexually attracted to me," I finished. There was no love in what he spoke of. Just attraction.

Miroku actually looked guilty, as if my words were punishment. He snuggled deeper into the blankets. "Can you blame me?"

"I suppose not. It's an instinct, I suppose, though one you seem to have more often than any other male I've ever met…" Miroku smiled a little.

"I've seen friendships break up for less before, Sango. I don't want to lose ours."

My cheeks began to turn as red as his face. I passed him his bowl of soup. I didn't smile at him. I didn't smile. Not then. I wasn't ready for it yet. "Houshi-sama, don't worry. I will never give you the chance to break it up."

Right after supper, Miroku finally succumbed to sleep. It was good for him to rest, but the camp was quiet without his inane chatter. Kirara and I whispered together quietly, and she kept me awake. I dabbed at Miroku's face to try and relieve the heat there, otherwise he'd throw off the blankets to try and get cold. He needed to be warm to sweat out the fever. I often gave him drinks. He'd wake up halfway, enough to drink, but be delirious. An hour or two into the night, the delirium began again. He began fighting, writing in the blankets and moaning, as if pain. Once he woke up screaming, calling out for his father, and then it was gone. He eventually fell back asleep.

Around four in the morning I began getting worried. He was still sweating, breathing heavily. He wasn't warm enough, not yet. I began pacing the camp, talking with Kirara. I knew what my mother would have done if she were sick with father, but there was a difference. They were married. We were not.

How could I throw myself to the lions—so to speak—after he had just finished telling me to keep away from him? He was attracted to me… to get that close to him was to ask to be burnt. And really, wasn't a punishing him, glimpsing to him what he could have and then denying him everything?

Kirara put it into perspective for me: he didn't want to break up your friendship. If you don't help him, then you won't have him, period.

I changed into my slayer outfit. Really, the best way to share body heat was skin-to-skin, but there was _no way_ I was getting in bed with Miroku naked. There were limits, and then there were _limits_. He flinched when I drew back the covers. I lay down next to him and held him in my arms. His body stiffened and then slowly relaxed, rolling over and burying his nose under my chin like a child or a cat. It wasn't… it wasn't so bad. I leaned my head against the ground and closed my eyes as Kirara came trotting over. I was asleep before Kirara had even sat down.

When I awoke, it was noon. My stomach rumbled, demanding to be fed. I sat up and realized that something was wrong. It took me a moment to realize that Miroku was missing. Before I had a chance to stand up, I saw him. I was leaning heavily on Kirara, who was still limping herself. He looked worn and tired, but the fever was gone. He smiled at me.

"I see the sleeping princess finally wakes up. I'm sorry that I wasn't there to see. I… ah… I heard the call of nature."

"So did I. That's why I woke up. I don't suppose suppers ready?"

He shook his head and held up a hand. A rabbit dangled. "Kirara was kind enough to feed herself and look after us." The cat smiled proudly. Yes, she smiled proudly. "I'm afraid we still have to cook the meat. I would've started it, but I don't know if I'm contagious." His grey eyes danced. "I don't suppose the doctor is kind enough to tell me if I'm okay to cook?"

I groaned and fell back. Pulling the covers over my head, I returned to bed. "I was up with you all night. I don't care if you're feeling even worse or hung over. You're cooking." Within a second or two I heard him sharpening a knife on a whetting stone. I sat up, glaring at him. He'd washed at the stream. With the bags under my eyes and my hair in tatters, I was the one who looked sick. "Listen, about last night…"

He looked up, interested. The words stopped dead in my throat. I slowly continued, blushing. "Hou… Houshi-sama, please, don't tell anyone about… last night…"

"If I do, you're more than welcome to point out that Kirara was on the other side of me, watching over both of us." Kirara stopped washing herself to pose heroically before continuing. Miroku laughed. "And that all I could smell last night was fish-breath breathing down my neck!" She swiped at him playfully. I had to try hard to suppress a smile.

"You had to do what you had to do. That's all, Sango. I thought, all things considered, it was sweet and noble of you. I promise you I'll never tell anyone. It's our secret. The three of ours. And the same goes for whatever nonsense I was saying last night."

Nonsense?

Nonsense?

He smiled at me. "Deal?"

"Sure." It was cold and abrasive. Miroku didn't seem to notice. I thought he'd been telling the truth. Apparently he hadn't been. I was too frustrated to sleep anymore. There he had been calling me his friend and telling me that I was important to him, that I was safe because he'd never want to hurt me, and now, _now_ it was all _nonsense_!

As I stood up, tidying up the camp, he stopped me. He reached over when I wasn't paying attention, and ran his hand along my backside. My response was immediate. I spun, hand raised, to slap him, and he caught it. There was no letting me hit him this time. I think I would have tired to hit him with the other hand, but… but he was so serious looking.

"…thank you for not getting my _kesa_ dirty."

I was taken a little buy surprise. And then I understood. I lost my frown, even if I didn't actually smile. "You're welcome, Houshi-sama."

But that's not what he heard. He heard respect, and friendship, and all was well between us. So he let my hand go, and received his dutiful slap on the cheek. But I think it was the lightest slap I ever gave him.

If I told Kagome or Inuyasha this story, they'd see that I always did respect him. And in return, he respected me. Our whole relationship was reciprocal. It's how I liked it. It's how he liked it. And then, eventually, one day, he admitted to me that he had never intended to fall in love with. He had wanted to be my friend, nothing more. But somewhere in between all the gropes and fights and piles of bandages, he fell in love with me. And I, in turn, learned to love Miroku: to love those silly little tights and his dumb jokes and his bad cooking and his gropes.

You know, that's really the only thing that matters. It doesn't matter what my friends think, even if it _does_ infuriate me. I wish I could honestly tell you that he never hurt me, but I would be lying. That's life. We fight; I cry; I yell; he yells; he goes off and sulks and plots revenge, and I go off and beat up poor defenseless Inuyasha. And then one of us makes up, and we fight over who was wrong, and we kiss. And everything is magically better again.

And I'll let you in on another little secret. It's not the kiss that's magical. It's knowing how and when and why to say you're sorry, that you were wrong. The ability to do such a thing is a vital lesson in life to learn for relationships to work. Miroku has apologized, sooner or later for anything he's ever done or said wrong. Even groping me. He's apologized for everything but one thing.

Back then he said he'd have no reason to stay with me if we ever became romantically involved. Sometimes, I think I'd like to tease him about it, but I promised to forget it. But I've had fifteen long years to think of an answer, damn it, so if he ever brings up me sleeping next to him that evening, I've got a real zinger coming.

I think it'll go something like: "Do you see how much I love you, you lech? I haven't given you just _one_ reason to stay around! I've given you _eleven_, just like you wanted!"

But I worry he'll lie and say he wanted twelve.


End file.
